Her Unexpected Journey
by Seiwrah
Summary: In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Her name was Bilba Baggins, and she never had anything unexpected ever happen to her. That all changes when a company of dwarves comes knocking on her door, and she is whisked away on an adventure to act as a burglar in their quest. [NOTE: Bilbo is the only one who is genderbent. Rating will increase when content becomes more mature.]
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! Thanks for checking this fic out! It's my first one for The Hobbit-I was just really interested in the dynamic a female amongst the company could bring. Please let me know what you think if you get a moment! Also, I wrote fem!Bilbo's name as being "Bilba," but I have seen "Bella" and "Billa" as well, among others. Not sure if I'll change it or not, but I'm curious to know what all of you prefer? Anyway, please enjoy!**

Bilba had just settled down to enjoy her cup of tea, embroidery in one hand and a seed-cake in the other. She was comfortable enough and had plumb forgotten the unsettling event of yesterday. But once she heard a sudden rap upon her door, the memory of Gandalf's visit and her promise to tea with him this day jolted to the front of her mind. Bilba hurriedly placed another cup and saucer upon the table and set out an extra seed-cake or two. She was very annoyed with herself for having forgotten the invitation she offered, but since she hadn't written it down after their shocking encounter she couldn't have been that prone to remember it in the first place.

Bilba rushed towards the door, and prepared to apologize for making Gandalf wait on the doorstep for this long, but she cut her apology short for it was not Gandalf standing before her. It was a dwarf. She had never seen a dwarf before, but knew enough about them to know that this bearded, bulky fellow was indeed a dwarf.

The dwarf looked just as surprised to see Bilba as Bilba was to see him. She watched as he jerked his head to look at the front door, as if double-checking something, and then turned back to face her.

"…Can…can I help you?" Bilba finally mustered to ask.

The dwarf regained his bearings and offered a curt bow. "Dwalin, at your service."

Bilba was taken aback, and somehow found herself uttering the standard, proper reply. "Bilba Baggins at yours."

As if that settled things, Dwalin saw himself inside and hung his traveling hood about a wooden peg among many; there were plenty of pegs for hanging coats since Bilba was fond of visitors, but she naturally was only fond of them when she knew who they were and when they were visiting.

Bilba blinked at him. She had half a mind to send this audacious dwarf on his way. What would her neighbors say, a well-to-do hobbit like her having dealings with dwarves? But for some reason when she opened her mouth, what came out was, "It's high tea time—let me show you to the kitchen."

Dwalin was stiff and stoic, and mumbled a hasty thanks before following Bilba. She was in a daze watching a dwarf, in her very own kitchen, slurp from her very own tea cup with his soiled boots staining her very own heirloom rug. This had to be a dream, she allowed herself to think. She was woken to reality when there was yet another knock at the door.

Gandalf for sure this time, Bilba thought. He can help clear this whole mess up.

But lo and behold it was not Gandalf, and you can imagine how befuddled poor Bilba was to see that it was another dwarf.

She was met again with a surprised expression, similar to her own. This dwarf glanced her up and down before collecting himself, bowing, and saying "Balin, at your service."

Bilba quite forgot her manners this time and said, "Thank you," which is not at all the polite way to respond.

Balin shuffled his feet before deciding to enter, then up went a hood on a peg next to the other. Bilba was feeling faint from all the excitement. _Two_ dwarves? This had to be Gandalf's doing she was sure of it, what with his talk of adventures the other day. If he ever decided to show up she would give him a piece of her mind about what she thought of his poor taste in jokes. Dwalin called out, and she motioned to Balin the direction he should follow to reach the kitchen. Once his bobbing beard turned the corner, she rested her head against the wall of her hole and closed her eyes. There's no way the dwarves came all this way without another hobbit noticing. She was sure she provided enough fuel for the Shire grapevine for weeks to come. Hobbits love to gossip, though they wouldn't ever admit to it in those terms; to them it was "keeping up with current happenings."

Another knock came at the door, but Bilba had come to expect it and half-expected it to be another dwarf. She was wrong; it was another _two_ dwarves.

These two dwarves were similarly surprised, but offered their greeting nonetheless. "Fili and Kili at your service!"

She had had enough time to gather her wits to give an appropriate reply. "And Bilba Baggins at yours!"

"Well this is astonishing," the one named Kili grinned. "I never knew there were women in your trade."

What trade he assumed she was in, Bilba hadn't the slightest idea. But before she had a chance to ask or feel insulted, Fili and Kili popped their hoods on pegs and made their way to the commotion in the kitchen.

This was ridiculous and borderline absurd. But Bilba somehow found herself following Fili and Kili and taking orders for drinks and snacks. Between all of her dashing from her pantries to the kitchen, there had been several more knocks upon the door. Each time it was more dwarves. Now Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin, and Gloin were here to join the throng, all of them at her service and her at theirs. She bustled about arranging their comfort as the dwarves babbled amongst themselves like old friends. Bilba was tired of their shrewd glances, terrible table manners, and lack of "please and thank you," so at the next knock she felt her temper rise.

Her shock was beginning to give way to indignant anger, and she marched to her door with a flushing face and fisted hands, and jolted it open with a harsh tug. Perhaps it was a little too harsh, because the unsuspecting dwarves on the other side all toppled and landed in a heap. Gandalf stepped around them, looking quite pleased with himself. She never thought she'd be as relieved to see a wizard in her home as she was now.

"Gandalf, just what do you think…what are all…why are—"

"I know you must be busy hosting guests, Bilba, but it is rude to leave fresh visitors unwelcomed," Gandalf interjected.

He was right, of course, so she helped the dwarves up, each one pledging their services to her in turn, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.

The final dwarf she helped looked agitated, and rightly so for being at the bottom and underneath Bombur, who was rather large. This was a very important dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of the Mountain, and he did not appreciate being squashed and was feeling rather haughty and not in the mood to offer a lowly hobbit his service.

"Bilba Baggins, at your service," Bilba offered. She received another look of surprise that she hardly took notice of, being conditioned to them by now. However she did notice how displeased Thorin was concerning his less than ideal entry, and she began to apologize profusely. She looked so worried and concerned that Thorin couldn't help but grumble, "Pray don't mention it," and his frown dissipated.

One of the dwarves cleared his throat. "Ms. Baggins, if you don't mind me asking, how did a lady such as yourself end up in your line of work?"

This was the second time a dwarf had referenced her nonexistent profession, so Bilba had a retort at the ready.

"I'll have you know, master dwarf—Bofur, was it?—that I bear the respected name of 'Baggins,' and am therefore under no occupation of any sort, other than being the sole titleholder and resident of Bag End."

The four dwarves exchanged questioning murmurs, and Thorin stepped forward with a mighty air, casting an accusatory glare at Gandalf. "Do you mean to say that you are _not_ a burglar then?"

Bilba's cheeks pinched and pinked, why, a burglar! She had never felt so affronted in all her life! And she trembled trying to find words to say, but her mouth merely wagged and babbled out nonsense. All the excitement of the day was getting to her. "I think I need to sit for a bit," Bilba said before politely retiring to the parlor in her armchair.

At this point the dwarves that had been clustered in the kitchen all bounded into the hall to pay their cents on the matter. Talk broke out all at once about the dangers of the quest, it being no place for a lady, and besides they needed a professional burglar not some unknown novice. They thought their voices low and secretive, but dwarves are always louder than they mean to be and Bilba heard every word. She sunk deep into the cushions and did not pretend to understand any of what they were saying about "quests." She also tried not to worry about her mangled doilies, trampled carpets, and emptying pantries. Confound those dwarves and confusticate their dwarvish business! Bilba was all the more flustered by it. Burglar, indeed! Although part of her, perhaps the Took side, wanted to join them and their adventures and treasure hunts.

"I think she'll just be a distraction, in more ways than one if you feel me," Dwalin said.

"Now how can _that_ be a distraction? It's a contribution in my book," Kili confessed with a wink.

"This could be one of the most venerated journeys in all of dwarvish history! We shouldn't take any unnecessary risks with our path already being perilous enough!" said Dori.

"Beggars can't be choosers—we need a burglar, lady or not," Balin reasoned.

"She looks more like a housewife than a burglar," said Gloin. The other dwarves laughed aloud and nodded in agreement.

Bilba puffed at this remark, for it made her sound old and dowdy. She might have reached fifty years, but for hobbits fifty was a perfectly normal age to just begin familial proceedings, certainly not old enough to be designated as a "housewife." Bilba was still at her prime, though slightly matured from her more mischievous tween ages between twenty and thirty-three. It was needless to say that she did not appreciate what these dwarvish men were implying. Her Tookish side would not have this, and perhaps this is what led her to put her foot in.

She heaved herself out of her armchair and did one of the most Tookish things she had done in a long while—interrupt a conversation without excusing herself.

"I don't catch your intention with all this 'burgling' business, but I am right in believing that you think I am no good. Well, I was skeptical when you all appeared on my doorstep, but I treated you with hospitality and let you into my home, when no dwarf has stepped foot in here before. What I'm getting at is I'm willing to adapt, so tell me what you want done and I will try it. Why, my great-great-great-grand-uncle Bullroarer Took once fought in the—"

Gloin waved this aside, "Yes, yes, but that was long ago! We're talking about _you _and _now_. I can't imagine this lass traipsing about in a dragon horde, skipping past flames and wielding daggers."

To be honest, Bilba couldn't imagine this either, but she already picked her stance and wasn't about to back down now. Before she could say anything though, Gandalf frowned at her till she shut her mouth with a snap. He had been silent throughout this and let the dwarves have their say, but he didn't think he could bear their stubbornness any longer.

"Did you or did you not ask me to find the fourteenth member of your company? I say that it's Bilba, but if you don't want her, go off on your venture with thirteen and face all the bad luck you like." He scowled at all the dwarves, daring them to argue, but they all remained silent. "Then it's settled. Bilba is your burglar, or a burglar she will be when the time comes. She has a great deal more to offer than any of you (even herself) might guess."

Before anyone could press Gandalf to explain himself further, he exclaimed that he was hungry from traveling and would love a good supper and a glass of red wine if you'd please, Bilba. The dwarves chimed in with similar sentiments, even the ones that had been snacking, and they shooed Bilba off to prepare something, venison if she had any.

Still feeling slightly out of sorts with the burgling matter, Bilba blinked around at her pantry, not exactly sure what she had gotten herself into. All she knew was that these dwarves were strumming her last nerve with their rude behavior, and she muttered under her breath while cutting carrots for a stew. She definitely wasn't going to waste one of her best recipes on them, so a simple fish soup would have to suffice. Some rosemary rolls and apple slices would complement the meal nicely, she mused.

Bilba had just finished braising the fish to add to the pot when raucous laughter erupted from her parlor, and she just shook her head. It wasn't that she wanted to join those ruffians, but they were completely excluding her! The hostess! And were not making a _single_ effort to assist her in _any_ shape or form! Dropping a bag of potatoes and sending them sprawling every which way was the straw that broke her composure.

"Curse and bebother those dwarves! Why don't they lend me a hand?" Bilba slapped a hand across her mouth, ashamed and hoping that none of them had heard. Apparently they had, for Balin and Dwalin swiftly appeared and began picking up potatoes and dicing them crudely. Bilba squeaked out a "thank you," getting grunts in return. It was uncomfortable working together, and nothing was said other than directions, but with two extra pairs of hands dinner was ready in no time flat. The smell of the fish soup wafted through the air, coaxing drool out of the dwarves' mouths—just because it wasn't one of Bilba's best recipes doesn't mean that it wasn't worthy of a red ribbon or two.

"Alright everyone, line up here to serve yourselves and gather at the dining table!" Bilba called out. She needn't have said it twice, for in a flash the dwarves were all jumbled together, elbowing each other out of the way. Of course Thorin went first without question, but the others were performing small feats of sabotage to be a dwarf ahead in the procession. Bilba laughed behind her hand at this and assured them that there was enough for all. There was nothing that could put a hobbit in a better mood than seeing enthusiasm for their cooking.

Bilba waited for the dwarves before serving a bowl of stew for herself and Gandalf, then carried them both to her dining room. She was intrigued to see that all the dwarves were waiting for her (albeit anxiously) to start eating. The gesture touched her, but with the multitude of furtive glares that were being cast at Gandalf she knew that it must have been a firm recommendation of his. She thanked them sincerely nonetheless, and took a seat between Bofur and Dori. Everyone began to reach for spoons and to toss around the basket of rosemary rolls, but something about the table setting seemed off to Bilba…and she just couldn't place her finger on what. Then it hit her. She had guests over and no flowers on the table! Oh, how obtuse of her!

"Wait, wait!"

Everyone panicked—soup was sputtered, curses were thrown, daggers were reached for. Bilba didn't catch the rest of the commotion though, for she had already dashed out the front door to her garden and furiously began picking mayflowers. Luckily she had just pruned them that morning! The flowers held a special meaning of welcome, and it was her signature to have a bouquet of them for when she had guests over to dine. To not would be an insult for all! She had only enough for a modest vase-full, but the vase was a crystal one of her grandmother's so she deemed that it added character. Bilba primly returned, mayflowers in hand, and almost dropped them all when she saw the scene before her.

The dwarves were all in a tizzy. Thorin was barking orders, others were coughing and hacking while yelling about being poisoned, and weapons were at the ready as they all shouted "what happened to that dratted hobbit?" During all this, Gandalf was quietly sipping on soup and smiling as he looked on. She gave him an incredulous stare before hitching up her skirt and making a loud show of plopping the vase onto the center of the table. All noise ceased at once and everyone's eyes snapped to her. Startled, Bilba was now very conscious of the soil on her hands and tried to rub it away.

"I…I brought in some flowers from my garden. Now that the table is in order you can return to your dinners," she said weakly.

Bombur was happy to oblige, but stopped short when no one else followed suit.

Thorin looked moderately enraged, but he leveled his voice the best he could. "You shriek about halting the meal, leading us all to believe there must be a plot of poison afoot, then you vanish without another word and reappear with…daisies?"

"Mayflowers," Bilba unwittingly corrected.

Thorin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Fine, mayflowers then." He took a deep breath before continuing in a severe tone. "You do recognize the alarm caused by your unnecessary outburst, do you not?"

Heat pricked Bilba's cheeks. A company of hobbits would understand her "outburst," and in fact join her with a few choice exclamations of their own. It would seem that this was not so with a company of dwarves; they are much more on their guard and have greater things to fear than an absent bouquet.

"I…I apologize. I wanted to make you feel properly welcomed." Bilba was hoping that this would soften their glares, but it did nothing of the sort.

"How are we to expect a burglar to burgle when she has episodes like this?!" challenged Dwalin. He was of course directing this to Gandalf.

"Nonsense, Master Dwalin. Bilba is merely excited, that is all."

"What if she is to get 'excited' while right under the dragon's nose? Her girlish squeals would awaken the beast and send us all to fiery graves!" Oin piped up.

Bilba was feeling her knees give way, what with the mention of a "dragon" and a terrible demise. Just what sort of adventure is this? And had she really agreed to it?

Gandalf sighed. "We'll set this straight. Bilba, will you do any screaming of any sort around the dragon?"

Bilba, wide-eyed, shook her head, curls flicking across her face as she did so.

Gandalf stared them all down to ensure no one questioned her. "There, see? Now let's put this behind us and enjoy the delightful meal Bilba has prepared."

Most of the dwarves were not convinced, but they begrudgingly sat down and had their moods greatly lightened once they tasted the stew.

"It's especially good when you crumble the rolls in it!" Ori guaranteed.

"Na, I prefer to dip," Nori said, drowning his bread in the creamy broth.

Though they all enjoyed the meal, Bilba did not enjoy their manners. She was absolutely disgusted and downright repulsed by the all the smacking, slurping, chugging, and elbows-on-the-table resting. And not even a napkin in the lap! She pretended to not mind in the slightest, but when a stray piece of half-chewed trout landed on her hand, she visibly shuddered.

Her patience was tested all the more even after dinner was finished. Not a dredge of soup remained (though the apples were untouched) and only crumbs littered the table. It was then that she mentioned "washing up," and the dwarves all shared mischievous grins.

"Oh don't fret, lass! We'll take care of that for ya!" Bofur said, stifling giggles.

Silverware soaring through the sky, bowls balancing on heads, plates cascading from the rafters to land in expectant hands—it was enough to put Bilba over the edge! She fretted and pleaded at them to be more careful, but they all just burst into song, the nasty little buggers. They actually carried a catchy tune, but Bilba was far too distressed to care to join in, for the words dealt with smashing her bottles, chipping her plates, and a bunch of other horrid vandalisms.

They finished, with clean dishes piled high and nary a scratch in sight. Bilba had tugged her hair into knots and was relieved to see they hadn't carried out the horrible deeds they sang of. The dwarves were all laughing heartily and admiring their handiwork, but Bilba simply sniffed at them.

"Ah, come now Missus Boggins! Think of this as repayment for the fright you gave us earlier," Kili teased.

Bilba flushed at this and mumbled that she supposed it was fair if you took that into consideration. Still, she wasn't quite ready to forgive their unsightly table manners.

Thorin cleared his throat to call everyone at attention. He stood tall and proud, and Bilba shrunk under his steeled gaze. "We have dark business to attend to. Gandalf gathered us all here at the hafling's for a reason, so let's hear what he has to say."

Gandalf bowed his head reverently. "Bilba, if you could fetch a light for us please. I have something I need to show you all."

**There we go, chapter one! Thanks for reading! Based on feedback, I might actually continue writing this. The thought of having Bilbo be female always interested me ever since I first read the book seven years ago, and now I'm finally writing down some thoughts, haha. Who'da thunk I'd still be just as obsessed?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for checking out my story and a super special thank you to everyone who left comments! I super appreciate them, because it keeps me motivated. Now that school has started back for me, I'll need that now more than ever, haha. Anyway, here's the next installment! It's actually pretty short, mostly because I wanted to get what I had written posted since I'm not sure when I'll have time to write more. Please let know what you think!**

Gandalf unfurled a map, and all the dwarves crowded in close, Bilba especially, for she held a deep fondness for maps. She would often go on walking holidays to chart out trails and roads. In particular, there is a certain map of hers Bilba is quite proud of, it being a pretty accurate depiction of the Shire going as far as Frogmorton. But the map before her was much more expansive than anything she could have imagined, and her feet ached just thinking of the walking holiday it took to make it.

Thorin however was less than impressed and he heaved a sigh. "Gandalf, I know these lands! I can direct my company just fine through the mountains."

"Ah, but there is something you are missing, Thorin. There is text on here that speaks of a secret entrance into Erebor, and I believe you all would benefit from that."

Bilba was dancing from one foot to the other, genuinely excited about the intricacies the map entailed and the unbelievable opportunity of a secret door. It was just like the stories her mother would tell her!

"Aye, this is very promising! This decreases our chances of alerting the dragon by tenfold," Balin determined.

Bilba's heart sunk; she had forgotten about that detail. Deep in thought, she kicked up a heel to rest behind her other calf and absentmindedly reached down to twirl the hair on her foot, a habit she never seemed to have grown out of. Bilba let the surrounding conversation wash over her as she waded through her own thoughts. Just what did she think she was doing? Inviting wizards to tea? Hosting a house-full of dwarves? Agreeing to be a burglar on some outlandish treasure hunt? It's not as if she could actually _go_. It had been a long time since Bilba had played pretend, and she got so caught up in the moment that she forgot to acknowledge that that's what this was for her: just pretend.

Thorin had already called her name several times before Bilba heard him. "I _said_, Ms. Baggins, that I would like to know what our burglar thought of the matter."

Bilba leapt up, Thorin eye's boring into her. The foot she had been toying with snapped back to the floor immediately, and she straightened herself to the best of her abilities. Bilba faltered to find something to say, not knowing what the matter was that she should speak on. Heat rose to her face as she mumbled a few "ums" and "wells," but nothing of consequence followed. Why oh why hadn't she been paying attention?

Thorin gave a great roll of his eyes and an exasperated groan. "Gandalf, you cannot _seriously_ expect us to hire this woman. She is not fit to join our company, and I will not have her."

This stung a good deal, and Bilba noticed one or two of the others wincing in sympathy. Without hesitation, the Baggins in her decided to seize the reigns from the Took; the game was over.

Gandalf was about to state Bilba's case yet again, but Bilba held up a hand. Swallowing the choking in her throat, she faced Thorin. "Of course you're right. Why, I don't know the first thing about this venture of yours, and everything I do hear makes me want to go less and less. I am not made for dragon fighting and horde plundering, and therefore I am probably not made for burgling either. So I can't say that I'd like to join you, but I thank you for your offer."

It all rolled off her tongue smoothly enough, and she assumed the dwarves would take it in stride as she curtseyed for added respect. But all the dwarves shockingly looked hurt. Their beards positively drooped, and Bofur and Balin even had eyes downcast. Though they all hadn't necessarily _wanted_ Bilba for the job, and wouldn't imagine selecting her on their own accord, it wounded them that she didn't desire to be a part of their company.

Thorin's harsh features softened from the blow of her words. He spoke in bewilderment. "Ms. Baggins, this is not a mere expedition to plunder. It is a journey, a righteous one, to bring justice to the dwarves of Erebor. We set out to reclaim our homeland that was wrongfully taken from us, stolen and kept by the terrible dragon Smaug. I wish you to see the honor behind our intentions, and understand the weight of our offer before you cast it aside."

Thorin went on for a good while, citing tales of dwarven bravery during the dark days under the mountain. As he spoke, the cold, lightless coals that Bilba saw as Thorin's eyes became warming gleeds lit by the embers of his passion—the passion for his people. And that is a flame that does not easily die out. Bilba was moved by this, and she felt a great swell of emotion for Thorin and his dwarves. She knew what she should do.

"I have been a giddy fool this whole time, Thorin Oakenshield, and I hope you can forgive me for it. This is not a game of pretend I can imagine and wish away at will—this is real, and real to you. Your adventure is the grandest invitation I have ever received…and I think that might be the problem of it all. I'm a hobbit, you see, and hobbits are not meant for grand things. I would help you if I could, but I'm not sure that I can."

A somber silence ensued. No one seemed willing to break it, not even Gandalf after all of his goadings and persuasions.

"Well," Bilba exhaled, trying to find a cheerful tone, "you are all spending the night, I assume? And even if you weren't I would insist. The guestrooms are all along the corridor to your left, but in the meantime please enjoy the parlor. I'll be in my bedroom if you need anything." And Bilba took her leave with a convincing yawn, feigning drowsiness to leave the dwarves to themselves, for they were itching to openly discuss her and she thought it more tactful to not be present for it.

Bilba left her door cracked open before crawling onto her bed and leaning against her headboard. This was an extraordinary day for her, and ones even more so were bound to have happened had she accepted Thorin and Company's proposition. Not willing to reflect on this, Bilba occupied her mind and picked up an embroidery hoop from her nightstand, cramming details onto a cloth napkin she had already finished embellishing. As she stitched, muffled murmurs trickled out of the parlor and she perked up her ears in spite of herself, straining to catch a hold of the conversation in vain.

Bilba didn't realize she was dozing until she awoke to the sound of singing. It was clearly the dwarves, but this tune was much different from the wash-up song they regaled her with earlier. This song was deep and rumbling, originating from the depths of sturdy bellies. Throaty and unwavering it resonated within every inch of her being. It sounded ominous, but there was a lingering promise tracing the notes. She understood immediately what the dwarves were doing upon feeling the same passion she had seen in Thorin's eyes: the dwarves were telling their history. Bilba felt the love for mountains and for clever craft, the jealousy for fine things, the pride of an ancient people, the fear of drawing doom, the desolation of a dragon's fire, the despair of a lost home, and the desire to take it back. It was to this that Bilba slipped into a fitful sleep, riddled with strange dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello hello! As you can see, I'm trying to get a chapter updated each weekend. Thanks for the comments! Every little bit of motivation counts. ;) Alrighty, hope you enjoy and thanks for checking out my fic!**

The following morning dawned quietly. So much so that when Bilba roused she was under the impression that the unexpected party of yesterday was solely an extension of her dreams. This theory was proven all the more plausible, being there was not a single dwarf in sight and her parlor was preserved in a perfectly orderly condition. She even checked the guest rooms, but the beds were prim and prosy and not a pillow was out of place. They had left without a trace, without saying goodbye. An empty feeling overcame Bilba.

She patted her cheeks chidingly. "You've made up your mind, silly girl. Besides, they left without you easily enough," she told herself. And with this consoling thought, Bilba set about to begin her morning routine. First on the list: dusting the mantelpiece. It was with shock and relief that there she found a letter addressed to one "Bilba Baggins," signed "Thorin and Company," and written on her monogrammed stationary of course.

Bilba pealed back the wax seal, and hesitated only slightly before reading on:

_Thorin and Company to Ms. Baggins greeting! For your hospitality our sincerest thanks. This letter is indicative that our offer for the position of "burglar" still stands, and the option to accept or decline is at your discretion. The terms and conditions of the venture are as follows:_

Bilba's discerning eyes scanned the proceeding legalities of the arrangement, and nodded, deeming it agreeable and fair. She would be lying to say she wasn't impressed with how official they could make a contract for a burglar.

_Thinking it unnecessary to disturb your esteemed repose, we have proceeded in advance to make requisite preparations, and shall await your respected person at the Green Dragon Inn, Bywater, up until __**11 a.m. sharp**__. We trust that your punctuality or lack thereof will express your decision, and we will honor it accordingly. _

_We remain yours deeply,_

_Thorin & Co. _

Bilba's heart quickened while rereading the letter, thrice for good measure, as she twisted the hair on her toes. There was no mistaking the tremble in her hands. But they were not trembling out of fear, anxiety, or anything of the like, oh no—Bilba was exhilarated.

Whisking around, Bilba checked her clock for the time.

10:50.

She would have to run.

Perhaps it was the stress of the split-second decision which pitted her rationale and instinct against one another. In a pinch such as that, it was always instinct that won over, and it goes without saying that her instinct was rather Tookish. But to the end of her days, Bilba could never remember how she found herself outside, with only the most vital of possessions in tow, cramming a biscuit in her mouth and pushing her keys into the Gaffer's hands as she ran as fast as her furry feet could carry her down the road. No hobbit had ever seen Bilba in such a state, or any other hobbit for that matter, and they all craned their necks through windows and around doors to get a look. For once, Bilba did not take notice; she ignored their hollers and questions of her sanity. She only focused on remembering to breathe as she huffed and puffed for well over a mile, leaving baffled and befuddled neighbors in her wake.

Bilba reached the inn on the stroke of eleven, and she realized how seriously the dwarves took their statement on "punctuality" upon seeing them packed on their ponies and ready to depart at that very instant. She tried her hardest to maintain some decorum, but was too exhausted to not double-over and gasp for air while they addressed her.

Balin had been the lookout. "Bravo! I saw you ambling towards us from some distance off, but with your skirts bouncing about I almost mistook you for a nanny off to hear the morning natter."

Everyone laughed at Bilba's expense and she reddened, though no one noticed for her cheeks were red enough as it was. She glanced down sheepishly at her skirts; in her defense, she didn't even own a pair of trousers.

"Honestly, we didn't think you'd come! You seemed so made up with your mind last night," Kili chimed in.

"Gandalf insisted on us leaving the letter, and even fussed at us to put it 'just so' on the mantelpiece. But I suppose it did its work if you're here now," Dori shrugged.

Thorin looked down, high and mighty on the tallest pony. "If bringing along a woman is going to lead to this much wasted time we might as well cease our journey before it begins. You got here on the edge of a knife, Ms. Baggins."

"I'm awfully sorry, but I made it here as quick as I could. I didn't get your note until 10:50 to be precise."

"Don't be precise," said Dwalin, "Now up ya get and off we go."

Bilba froze. Up? They couldn't possibly expect her to ride atop such a towering, belligerent beast! Bilba took a step back, shaking her head.

"I am much more content with both feet on the ground, I assure you! I can keep up just fine without a pony," Bilba rushed to say.

All the dwarves looked at each other and rolled their eyes, knowing how winded Bilba already was just from running such a short distance.

"I don't believe you have a choice in the matter, Ms. Baggins. As of now you are under my management. You are riding that pony," Thorin narrowed his eyes sternly, and motioned for Oin and Gloin to help her up onto the smallest steed.

Oin and Gloin grabbed Bilba's arms to hoist her, but she gave out a squeak of protest. "Ruffians! This is no way to treat a lady!" Oin and Gloin unhanded her and impatiently looked at Thorin for direction.

"And what does her ladyship propose?" Thorin mocked.

"Well, I am perfectly capable of using my own arms and legs, I just…need a little boost is all," Bilba said.

Thorin then had Oin and Gloin offer up their hands as a stepping stool, which Bilba stood on in order to swing a leg over her pony—very difficult work in a skirt. Blushing and hoping she hadn't let any of her unmentionables peek out, Bilba murmured a genuine thanks to Oin and Gloin who were already halfway onto their own ponies.

The world swirled around her as she looked to the ground. Bilba clutched tightly to her pony's mane and squinted her eyes shut, wondering if it was still too late to turn back.

Thorin shouted that it was time for everyone to move out, that is, if it was in accordance to her ladyship's design. Not appreciating his derisive tone, Bilba nonetheless humored him and nodded, and a chorus of snickering erupted.

Bilba pouted out a lip and decided to not speak to any of them for a while. For having been invited on this confounded journey, she wasn't feeling very welcomed. Concentrating on not sliding off the saddle, Bilba squeezed her legs tightly around her pony's middle, clamping on for dear life. After she felt like she could not possibly hold herself this way for much longer, she heard a chortle beside her.

"Unless you're aiming to squeeze all the air out of her, you might want to let up a wee bit," Bofur suggested.

"I'm _aiming_ to not fall off of this thing, master dwarf," Bilba replied huffily.

A laugh. "Oh, I promise you, you'll stay put—though the sliding around takes some getting used to. Her name is Myrtle, by the way. Talking to them always helps," he said with a wink.

"Oh," Bilba blinked, not expecting such well-intentioned advice, "thank you, I'll try that then."

Bofur skipped his pony a little bit ahead. Bilba then glanced around before cooing a few encouraging whispers in Myrtle's ear, saying her name soothingly. It seemed to definitely have some effect on Myrtle, as she didn't trot as jarringly before—though this might have been due in part to Bilba having loosened her legs from their death-grip. Bilba was immensely pleased with herself, and hardly minded the dwarves pointing and giggling in her direction.

Now that she was able to relax and take in her surroundings, Bilba was painfully aware of how indecent this situation must appear to an onlooker. _One_ hobbit _lady_ traversing with _thirteen_ dwarven _men_? This would be her undoing! She'd be finished if someone saw her! Which was bound to happen soon since they were on an open road. Bilba fretted for just a moment before thinking of a clever, yet undesirable, solution.

"Pardon me, master dwarf?" she directed this to Dwalin, who was riding nearest to her. He grumbled in response, so Bilba proceeded. "You wouldn't perchance have a spare hood to offer? I noticed you and all the others wearing them, and I'd like one to match." For the life of her Bilba couldn't read him, but a dark-green hood and cloak was thrust at her and she took it gratefully. It was a bit weather-stained and it clashed terribly with the pale blue pattern of her skirt, but she would manage. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it was enough, no matter how comic she appeared.

Quite suddenly, Gandalf galloped towards them on a white horse, seeming to come out of nowhere and causing everyone to jump in their saddles.

"Greetings, Thorin and Company! That includes you too, Bilba—I am ever so glad you dusted your mantelpiece this morning." He expertly avoided all demands to know what he was doing here and where he had come from and how exactly he had known of Bilba's dusting habit. "What a wonderful day to begin an adventure, is it not?" And it was, this they all agreed on. Soon singing and storytelling began, things Bilba loved dearly. She was captivated by the travelling songs the dwarves knew, and found that they were not all that different from ones she grew up with.

Wanting to contribute a ditty of her own, Bilba thought of a simple song for summer days and shaded hills. It went like this:

_Sun shining bright aloft,_

_Warming kiss it giveth doth._

_Freckling faces breeze frees,_

_Lie within the cool of trees._

Bilba would have gone on for several more phrases, but she stopped short when she noticed all attention on her. Pursing her lips tightly she swallowed the rest of the words. Maybe a hobbit's songs were not fit for dwarves.

Bifur garbled something out incoherent and swung his arms about in wild gestures.

"…come again?" Bilba said.

"He said, 'Don't stop! Keep going!'" Bombur translated.

Shy from the prompting, Bilba blushed. "Oh no no, that's fine, I'm quite done."

They all looked downcast at this. "Unless…you _really_ want me to continue?" she asked unsure.

They nodded firmly.

"It just sounded so lovely!" said Ori with a dreamy gaze.

"Aye, strong and clear," Oin added. Bilba realized she must have been singing rather loudly when she noticed his ear trumpet resting unused at his side. "Like a hammer testing a gem of the purest sort."

Though not fully understanding the compliment, Bilba was flattered nonetheless. Maybe dwarves weren't as disagreeable as she thought. "Well, alright. But you must give me time to think up more words, because I've gotten sidetracked you see."

"You thought up those words yourself, Ms. Baggins?" This time it was Thorin that spoke.

She responded with a yes, not really knowing what else to say.

Thorin gave a nod in return, and turned back to facing the front.

After that exchange, the other dwarves clambered their ponies around Bilba's and began to press her with requests of what they wanted to hear next. Titles jumbled together before a consensus was reached and they collectively chanted one song name in particular.

"The Ballad of Beleriand!" they all cheered out.

It sounded like gibberish to Bilba, she had never heard of it before, and therefore told them so.

"Never heard of—it's _legendary_! The type of tale Dwarven history is made of!" Gloin exclaimed, completely flummoxed that all of Middle Earth couldn't recite it forwards and backwards.

"Hobbits don't know much of anyone's history but their own, and even _that_ is sparse," Bilba confessed.

This provoked an unending barrage of questions from the dwarves, mostly concerning what in fact hobbits did know of dwarves.

"…very little to tell the truth," Bilba said, bracing herself for what she knew was to come.

"We shall have to remedy that then!" Fili cried out, followed by a chorus of "here here!"

And so for a long while, the dwarves babbled excitedly about ancient battles, successful kings, and honorable deeds of dwarven folk. Bilba listened the best she could, but the onslaught of names and information was too much for her to retain, so she stuck to enjoying the telling and did feel more knowledgeable concerning dwarves, however slightly so.

"We're stopping for supper in that clearing up ahead," Thorin said when the stories were dwindling.

Bilba looked around, surprised at the change in surrounding. There were no longer well-kept roads and domesticated land, but overgrown paths and thick trees. How long had they been riding? By the grumble of Bilba's stomach, for some time. She only had a morsel for elevenses in place of breakfast and second breakfast due to her late start, and no lunch or afternoon tea to speak of! Supper would be greatly welcomed.

The dwarves reached the clearing in the forest and began unpacking the parcels. Bilba wished she could help, but stayed stuck on her pony, not having the faintest idea how to dismount. After clearing her throat a few times to no avail, she finally rallied against her embarrassment to call out for assistance.

The dwarves all stared at her, wriggling in the saddle, and had a good hearty laugh at their unexperienced traveler. Thorin however did not laugh, and he plodded over to Myrtle and pulled at Bilba's outstretched hand, yanking her off. Ignoring her yelp, Thorin proceeded to catch her and gruffly set her on the ground.

"You could have at least given me warning!" Bilba said crossly.

Thorin sighed. "Just sit over there and out of the way till we are finished unpacking."

Bilba hesitated, prompting Thorin to groan out what else could be the matter. "I…just thought I could help is all," she explained.

"You are sitting and nothing more. We cannot trust you to handle the weight of the baggage and have no desire to spoil our supplies," Thorin said flatly, and took his leave.

Bilba puffed up and made a great, exaggerated motion of taking a seat atop a gnarled root. Gandalf was already there, enjoying a pipe-full of weed. While she steamed, Gandalf tried to console her. "He does mean well, my dear. Fear not, you'll prove yourself soon enough," he said between smoke rings.

"Are you always this vague and unhelpful of a wizard?" she grumbled. Gandalf only giggled.

**So, what'd you guys think? I'd love to know! **

**Also, fun fact: I named The Ballad of Beleriand in reference to the actual battle of Beleriand that was a huge triumph for the dwarves since they were the only ones able to stand against the dragon Glaurung. Cool stuff!**

**I also hoped you liked Bilba's diddy-it was a little poem of my own, so that was fun to do. :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello hello! As you might have noticed, I added an image to my fic. It's just a little doodle of Bilba I did in my spare time, and I know I know, it's really rough but I wanted to add it since it would act as a better descriptor for the fic. Anyway, please enjoy the latest installment!**

Dinner was a lovely medley of potatoes, carrots, and pork, seasoned with thyme. It was particularly delightful, and Bilba finished her share in half a minute.

"My compliments to the chef," Bilba sighed while patting her stomach. "Are there any seconds to be had?"

Bombur blushed and twiddled his thumbs. "Unfortunately, no. I made only just enough…to ration what food we have," he said, looking wistfully at the empty pot. Bilba followed his gaze and wore a similar expression. Maybe there were some tidbits sticking to the bottom that she could salvage into a few more mouthfuls? Checking certainly wouldn't hurt…

Her thoughts must have conveyed themselves perfectly on her face, for the dwarves all laughed and teased her.

"I've only ever seen Bombur eye a pot like that!" Bofur claimed, his statement being met with an elbow from his disgruntled brother.

"Well, I missed out on all my meals today—besides elevenses, that is—and I can't imagine I made up for it with what little I just had," Bilba defended.

The dwarves all grew quiet, pondering over what Bilba had meant.

"How much do you eat exactly?" asked Nori skeptically.

"The standard six square meals a day," Bilba shrugged. This led to much sputtering and gasping, and they all sounded so outlandish that Bilba couldn't help but feel that she had said something wrong. Perhaps dwarves were more conservative with their larders?

"It's…quite normal for a hobbit, you see. I suppose dwarves…forgo some of the six then?" Bilba suggested meekly.

The dwarves just gaped at her. Apparently they did, judging by their disbelief.

"_Some_? Try _half_," said Dwalin with a derisive snort.

Complaints and concerns burst forth all around.

"We're going to be run dry by this blasted hobbit and her endless stomach!" Gloin said with a groan. And many similar things were said to an extent.

Bilba flushed deeply. "Nonsense! I will adjust my eating habits, of course! Honestly, it's not as if I lack all self-control." Though she didn't very much like the idea of eating only three meals a day for a prolonged period, she's never been above making sacrifices.

"I dunno, Missus Boggins, you were looking rather taken in by that pot," Kili grinned and wriggled a brow.

"It does have an alluring figure, I suppose," Fili joined, drawing suggestive pot-shaped curves with his hands.

"I'm tellin ya, _just_ like Bombur, she is! Match made in heaven," Bofur assured, which earned him yet another elbow to his side.

"That's enough," Thorin said standing up, cutting off all conversation and snide remarks, "Refrain from harassing our burglar any longer—if the fattest of us can survive off of what we eat, then so can Ms. Baggins."

Bilba shook her face in her hands, unable to handle these dwarves and their rude insinuations. Where was some nice hobbit company when you needed it? "Incorrigible, simply incorrigible," she muttered.

"How about some music, Thorin?" Gandalf interjected.

That changed the mood entirely. All thoughts of the insatiable Bilba Baggins escaped them, and they were occupied solely by the excitement of a symphony. The dwarves leapt up and scurried about, grabbing for bags and rifling through their contents.

Soon enough Fili and Kili returned with fiddles at their side, followed by Dori, Nori, and Ori who each held a flute firmly in their grasp. Bombur procured a drum and Bifor and Bofur two clarinets, while Dwalin and Balin struggled under viols as big as themselves. Even Thorin cradled a green cloth swathed around something. Oin and Gloin seemed to be the only ones of the company to be without an instrument, Oin explaining that his ears made it difficult to play and Gloin mumbling an excuse about never learning how. But Bilba, being without an instrument herself, was all too glad to add more members to the audience.

Then, not without pomp and ceremony, Thorin unfurled the green cloth to reveal a beautiful golden harp, humming to be played. The strings were of gold as well, finely spun to form delicate threads so that just breathing on them would cause them to shiver; it would take a nimble hand to play them prettily. Had it been anyone less skillful, the harp would have plunked out a cacophonous mess. But it was in good care, and it was with a practiced air that Thorin curled his fingers around the strings and strummed them like Bilba would run fingers across a flower petal.

All it took was one note, wavering in the night air, to conduct the other dwarves to start their playing. Thorin held the melody, and everyone else supported him with varying harmonies that all somehow flowed together.

Not unlike the other night when they all sang, Bilba was mesmerized by the splendor and looked on in awe. It was a stark contrast to hear such an elegant concerto played by this group of dwarves; from the stories they imparted, they painted themselves as warriors, strong, proud, and resilient. But there was something softer about them, something soft in their hearts that allowed them to craft this beauty. Bilba could see this softness particularly in Thorin's playing. His touch was gentle, and his eyes glowed with a light that danced upon the gold of his harp; perhaps it was the other way around, the harp's gleams in the firelight being reflected in Thorin's eyes. Though the latter was more likely, Bilba would not be swayed; it was his eyes that glowed, the very gleeds she saw when he spoke of his Erebor in her parlor.

Thorin looked up from his harp and at Bilba, forcing her to return from her daze and remember her place, darting her eyes away. In an attempt to appear occupied, she smoothed down her skirt to rid them of any wrinkles that she imagined must be there. But she could still feel Thorin looking at her, and finally he spoke up with something rather unexpected that took Bilba by surprise.

"Sing for us, Ms. Baggins."

And how could she refuse? Not when she was entranced by the magic before her, captured by the sound. It was with only slight reservation that Bilba stood up in the center of their orchestra. Before she knew or could even think about what she was doing, the words poured out of her from a source of inspiration nestled deep within.

_And lo the ever climbing stone,_

_A mountain called, made into home,_

_Carved and hewn with dwarven care_

_Filled with ore both fine and fair._

_The brightest jewel atop the crown,_

_It bested kingdoms so renowned,_

_Legend twas and is to come,_

_For dragon fire will succumb_

_To battle cries of rightful rage,_

_Beaten down by those he plagued._

_The throne returned to honor just,_

_Freed from fearsome dragon lust,_

_The King will stand in land reclaimed_

_And ever more will nobly reign._

Slow and solemn she sang, with hums interspersed throughout the lyrics to act as a stepladder for the next verse. Such sweet music they made, it was beyond all earthly description. As they performed, Gandalf's smoke rings circled the air above them, twining in the tendrils of tree branches, and casted quivering shadows that moved in time with the lick of the campfire's flames. It did not seem real, and in fact they were all so entranced that they quite forgot themselves and for the longest time did nothing but continue to dwell in this ethereal stupor.

All music ceased however when they realized they were shrouded in darkness, and they shivered to leave their reverie for reality.

"Oin! Gloin! The two of you were meant to tend to the fire! Get your tinderboxes and set it once more," the other dwarves said with clicking tongues. Bilba knew they were shaking their heads enough to make their beards wag, though she could not see this to affirm it as true.

After much scuffling and swearing, a blaze was made and it lit up the clearing immediately. Bilba started when she realized she had been staring at Thorin, though sightlessly due to the dark, and him at her. They seemed to be closer than she remembered.

"Those were some choice words, Ms. Baggins," Thorin said.

"Oh, were they?" Bilba blinked, having quite forgotten what she sang. She hoped she hadn't gotten too carried away with herself.

"I would hear those words again once we reach the Lonely Mountain. They will do Erebor's halls justice, and will be the ballad of our victory."

Bilba's heart beat dangerously, panicked that she could honest to goodness not recall anything that she sang, not a single stanza or even a note, strain her mind though she did. Not wanting to disappoint Thorin with this truth, Bilba opted to appease him instead and she nodded earnestly, causing her curls to bob worse than the dwarves' beards. Though she hoped against hope that Thorin would forget all about that bothersome song when the time came.

Aherming and aheming, Thorin stalked off, muttering his gratitude and thanking Bilba for her vocal contribution in their performance. Bilba was just about to commend Thorin's mastery of the harp, but was prevented due to the commotion that arose.

"Oy, where's the wizard?" Nori blurted. Everyone stood at attention and looked around: behind trees, under ponies and parcels, and within any other nook and cranny someone of magic could escape to.

"He's gone, the blighter!" all the dwarves yelled out, cursing his name and stomping their feet. "He's abandoned us!"

Only wisps of smoke remained to remind them that Gandalf had been there at all; he really seemed to have disappeared. While they all bemoaned their misfortune, they came to the conclusion that sleep was the only thing for them at the moment. So they all shared a round of goodnights and yawned while they patted down their sleeping pallets. Each attended to his own except for Ori and Nori who had Dori to fuss over them; Ori didn't seem to mind much but Nori scowled and stewed as Dori made extensive efforts to find the flattest of ground.

"Your pallet's rolled up in the bag yonder, Ms. Baggins," Balin said, motioning his head to indicate where she should look.

"The tent as well?"

Balin turned to her, very puzzled. "…tent?"

"Well, so as to separate myself from you all during the night, you see. It would be improper otherwise," Bilba professed. She assumed everyone, even dwarves, followed this sort of etiquette.

Balin simply stared. "Ms. Baggins, I assure you, a tent won't be necessary amongst us. Besides which, we don't even have one in our stock. Our roof is naught but the stars."

Bilba would have appreciated the poetry in this had it not been so disagreeable in a literal sense. She was about to offer up a convincing rhetoric on why backtracking to the nearest tent craftsman would be to the benefit of all, but Dwalin, who had been listening in, stopped her with a sound opinion of his own.

"Quit your griping and go to sleep! By my beard, what difference does a tent make! Go far off to the corner if you wish or sleep atop the tress—just leave us in peace!"

That shut Bilba's mouth nice and tight, and she promptly retrieved her pallet, nudging it the farthest edge of the jumble of dwarves. "No manners, the lot of them," she muttered under her breath. One of these days she would teach them the ancient lore of decent behavior. No tent, indeed! A delicate flower such as herself had no right to be sleeping exposed, to a horde of dwarven men no less!

As uncomfortable as she was with the situation, it was no surprise to her that she could not fall asleep. So stiff and wide-eyed she lay pressed to the farthest corner of her pallet, trying to push away the dwarves' snores and her concerns of impropriety.

**Phew, I was able to get another chapter out this weekend! Sorry they're so short, but since I'm pressed for time I figured a short chapter once a week would be better than a longer one every other week. **

**I enjoyed writing Bilba's little song for this, and hope you didn't mind it too much. I love that Tolkien wrote songs and poems for his works, so I wanted to contribute the same kind of feel. **

**I can't thank you enough for the reviews, everyone! It really keeps me going. :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**I have returned! So sorry it took this long to update-I had a lot of work going on with school and yeesh, it's been awful. I finally was able to finish up the chapter this weekend though. Please enjoy!**

They started early the next day, while the light was still gray and mist blanketed the grassy undergrowth. The dwarves were well rested and in a decent enough mood, while Bilba was neither of those things. What soured her milk was…well, what _wasn't_ souring? Bilba was still unsettled over her aforementioned sleeping arrangements, sore from her pony ride, and not to mention aching from all the roots and rocks that had jabbed at her through the thin sheath of cloth fondly referred to as a "pallet." And that wasn't even the icing on the cake it would seem; she found there was not even a mirror to fix her hair! Bilba fingered the traveling satchel she had the foresight to cinch around her waist before barreling out of Bag End the other morning, forlorn that she hadn't the prudence to bring a hand mirror. And a change of clothes as well, dash it all! Not that they would have fit, mind you. But a Baggins lady going on the second day of the same set of clothes—what were her principles coming to! She was beginning to remember why she had come to think of adventures as nasty things.

As she plucked at the mess of her curls and rubbed her tender rump, Bilba wished herself back home in Bag End sitting on a pile of down cushions, hair in place and toes warming by the fire. She imagined a tray of lemon tarts as an afterthought upon feeling a hollow pang of hunger which was not likely to be alleviated anytime soon. The list of off-puttings really did go on and on in Bilba's mind, and pining for home's comforts worsened them to a considerable degree.

Needless to say, the dwarves picked up on Bilba's foul spirits immediately, and did their best to avoid contact with her as they packed up their supplies and readied the ponies. They tutted about "women" and their "grumpy moods," and also made snide remarks about "hobbit lasses being disagreeable in the morning." They did so none too quietly, which riled Bilba even more.

"Hush! I may be grumpy, but my being a woman has nothing to it, thank you very much," Bilba spoke up rather irritably.

They all just tittered at this, leaving her to fume and tuck her tongue in cheek so as to not utter anything offensive. "I have half a mind…half a mind to…" they could hear her mumble.

"Is it just you who has half a mind, or hobbit women in general?" Nori gibed. Of course they all sniggered appreciatively at his humor, which ceased immediately when they noticed Thorin's glowering frown and furrowed brows. They all quieted down and murmured half-meant apologies, which Bilba welcomed with half-meant acceptance.

Nothing more was said and soon they were made ready to depart. On account of the critical reception of her eating habits, Bilba did not deem it prudent to ask if they would breakfast before their departure, knowing that the odds were against her.

Sure enough, dwarves began mounting their steeds, indicating that she should do the same and bring her empty stomach with her. Oin and Gloin were gracious to assist Bilba yet again in clambering up Myrtle, though it was still an awkward affair and she fretted over her skirts rising up.

Their ride was smooth and gentle since they were still in fairer country, but Bilba wouldn't have known since her bruises were still fresh and every stride met her with throbbing pain. Bilba remained silent to keep from complaining and only maintained a polite interest in the conversations around her. Really she was tired of the dwarves at the moment and nothing they did would pass as agreeable in her current state.

Clopping on for some time, and being in the back of their parade of fourteen, Bilba was becoming rather bored. She reached for the traveling satchel still bound at her waist that contained only the most vital of necessities; her embroidery of course was included amongst them and counted as such. Humming lightly, she pulled out her hoop with the cloth napkin attached, the very one that she had filled seam to seam—she hadn't had the time to replace it with a fresh one. There was nothing for it but to loosen the threads so as to start afresh.

Ori looked on in curiosity. He was the one riding nearest to Bilba, and though he had been scribbling in a notebook of some sort earlier, he became preoccupied with her doings and tucked it away.

"Aren't you working on that backwards, Ms. Baggins? I thought the point was to sew patterns on, not sew them off," he asked meekly.

She waved the colorful cloth with a quick flick of the wrist. "Well, I can hardly fit any more patterns, you see. It is a pity to waste the work, but I'd rather put my hands to good use and rid myself of tedium."

Bilba realized what she said and looked up to see Ori's face fall, disconcerted that she would refer to travelling in their companionship as "tedium."

Bilba rushed to save her manners. "Oh, I'm just at the back of the line, is all—away from all the interesting happenings and unable to hear the goings on."

"Ah, of course, this is my fault. I'm sorry, I've had my head in my journals all this time and paid no mind to you, Ms. Baggins," Ori said with an air of woeful understanding.

Well, now she was just feeling guilty. "Please, call me Bilba," she suggested sincerely, hoping that that would remedy the situation.

It most certainly did, for Ori's face brightened and his wispy smile curled to the side to match his lopsided bowl cut that somehow wasn't quite as unflattering as it was endearing.

"Alright, I will! Bilba it is then!"

Well, since they were already on the subject of preferred terms of address, Bilba figured that now was a good a time as any to broach the concern that had long been weighing on her mind.

"Master dwarf?" she began with hesitation, "There really is no easy way to say this, but I must admit, it _has_ been troubling me."

Ori's smile vanished. He grew visibly worried thinking of what could be bothering Bilba. It could be any number of things, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with any of them. Why had she chosen to confide in him of all dwarves? Blinking himself out of his stupor, he tuned back in to what Bilba was saying.

"…And I suppose sooner rather than later is the best way to wash a pot, as my father would say. So I'll just get on with it then, shall I? In truth—though it is to say quite by accident on my part really, but it is nonetheless in truth—I am…well…"

Ori leaned in anxiously. _You are? Well?_

"…'unsure' of all of your names and was hoping you'd be so kind as to repeat them for me?"

It really wasn't all that awkward of a business as Bilba feared it to be. Ori had been expecting something far worse, if her tip-toing around the issue had been anything to go by, so to find that it was merely a problem with not knowing their names, it was a relief for him to say the least. _That_ he could handle.

"Well, Ms. Baggins—"

"Um, Bilba, please."

"Oh, that's right—sorry! Well, Bilba, I wouldn't worry about—"

"Oh I don't believe I mentioned that I'm dreadfully sorry by the way!"

Ori blinked at Bilba's wringing hands. "Right. It's really fine, Bilba. I don't mind helping you with everyone's names."

"Really? Oh thank you!" Bilba relaxed, only to grow red all over. She cast down her eyes. "Um…would you mind starting with yours?"

Ori would have felt the sting of her words much more had he not been able to see how absolutely mortified she was.

"Oh…well, I'm Ori."

Bilba nodded in gratitude. "Ori."

"Oy, what's this I hear about not knowing our names?" Nori butted in, having been shrewdly eaves-dropping this whole while.

Bilba leapt up and was surprised to not have jumped straight out of her saddle and her knickers while she was at it.

Ori looked at Bilba apologetically before admitting that yes, it was true, Bilba did not know all of their names.

Nori's eyes twinkled with a dangerous mischief. "Well, it would hardly be fair for me to be the only one who knows of this juicy little secret."

"Nonsense, you wouldn't!" Bilba gasped. But Nori's side-eyed smirk told her that in fact he most definitely would.

"Maybe I won't…if you can tell me my name?"

Bilba's mouth dropped open in alarm, and Nori bounced up and down with glee. "I suspected as much. Oy, everyone! Everyone! Listen to what I have to say about the hobbit!" And everyone indeed swiveled around in their saddles immediately to listen; they either looked puzzled or intrigued, or an equal combination of the two. Bilba meanwhile buried her face in her hands and cursed the dwarves under her breath.

"The cheeky thing doesn't even know our names!"

This enlightening information coaxed just the reaction Nori was hoping for and what Bilba was dreading. All the dwarves, except for Thorin of course, prattled out indignant babbles, and they twisted their beards in a jerky fashion as if to catch hold around their pride. They soon disrupted their line to form an angry gathering surrounding poor Bilba, who was currently tugging at the hair on her toes and wishing to disappear.

"What does he mean by this, Ms. Baggins?"

"Hm?" Bilba attempted to feign innocence, which was entirely ineffective against a pack of determined dwarves.

"Do you know our names, lassie?" Gloin asked with crossed arms and squinting eyes.

Bilba fiddled with her bodice, which was suffocating her at the moment under the stifling heat of unwanted attention. "Well…I—I—suppose it would be a lie to say that I do…though it wouldn't be altogether truthful if I said that I didn't…I do know some of them!" Bilba stammered with difficulty.

All the dwarves demanded at once to know whose names she did and did not know.

"Well…there's Ori," Bilba began unwillingly, giving a tired motion in his direction. They all gave affirming nods, beckoning her to continue.

"And there's Dwalin…he was the first one to show up on my doorstep." This was greeted with more nods, and Dwalin trying to not appear so haughty to have been among the remembered.

"And…um…you're Balin, I believe? You arrived after Dwalin?" Murmurs of confirmation and a pleased smile from Balin followed.

"And…oh dear…you two were next, I know…and your names rhymed…Ffff…K-k-k…Fail and Kale?" The dwarves all threw up their hands in exasperation, Fili and Kili's being thrown the highest.

"Missus Boggins, how could you?" Kili whined, a hurt expression plastered on his face.

"Just a moment, you don't even know my name! It's _Baggins_, not _Boggins_!" Bilba said, tired of being scrutinized. "And you all already knew each other before you charged my door and infiltrated my home, so what's it for _you_ to learn one more name? I got tossed into this whole affair, so please excuse me for not paying more mind to the names of my assailants!"

"Is that really all you know though?" Fili asked, bewildered.

Bilba reddened even more. "This…has been a rather shaky experience for me—you can hardly expect for my memory to serve me well under these conditions."

"Do you at least know his?" Kili asked, titling his head at the dwarf riding in front, who all this time had been attempting to ignore their discussion. But at this obvious mention of him, he bristled and couldn't help but perk up his ears.

Of course they would ask about _his_ name, and rightly so for him being the king and all. And thankfully since he was so important of a dwarf, he had a tendency to make that clear by repeating his title and predecessors when he felt it would fit into the conversation, which was far too often in Bilba's opinion.

"Oh—hm. What _was_ his name?" Bilba pondered in jest.

Thorin must not have recognized the tease in her tone—this much was clear at how positively affronted he looked. He gave a testy glare but steeled himself to silence, expecting one of the other dwarves to rise up in his defense, singing his namesake and his praises.

Before giving anyone the honor however, Bilba rushed to retract the joke, regretting it entirely. "It was simply a poke of fun, Thorin! I know your name of course. Honestly, how could I forget? Master 'Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King of the Mountain?'"

Thorin might have been relieved at this, but he did not show it. Though it was apparent that it deterred a foul rise in his mood. The other dwarves however only had complaints and distressings to give.

"You know his name, his father's name, and not just that but his _grandfather's_ name—but you can't know _ours_?"

Bilba groaned. Would this ever end? "Honestly, I've tried to pick up on _all_ your names but none of you ever say them! I had been hoping you'd ease them into conversations, and I could pick them up that way, but you stubborn dwarves gave me nothing! All except Bombur's name—" Bombur choked at this. "Yes, his is the last one I know—so please, if anything, understand that I'm sorry and that I _did_ try," Bilba pleaded.

They all looked like they wanted to protest this further and reprimand their little burglar some more, but Thorin finally had something to say.

"Is our pride so fragile that a hobbit woman not knowing our names warrants such insult? Ms. Baggins will learn them in time, and I suppose we should be more helpful in that regard."

Bilba relinquished the clench she had on the hair of her toes, feeling the tension about her dispel. Losing the confidence gained from the surge of emotions from earlier, she cleared her throat before squeaking out, "Please, call me Bilba. At this point I don't expect any formalities used on my account."

"Bilba?" Thorin confirmed.

"Bilba! My name is Kili! Ki—li! Say it now, and then a thousand times over so that I know you will have it engraved in your mind and on your tongue!" Kili persisted.

"And mine as well! I would greatly appreciate never being referred to as 'Fail' again—it's Fili."

Bilba obediently repeated their names with a laugh until both were satisfied, and then they pressured her to move on to the next. After a good bit of recitation, she had everyone's names stored for eternity, though she struggled a bit with Oin and Gloin's, much to their chagrin and to everyone else's amusement. In the end, she went down the line and called on each one of them, cheers and applause revealing the dwarves' approval.

"Do your names have any particular meaning though? Ori, I had meant to ask you that earlier—what does your name mean?"

Ori glanced searchingly at Dori, who Bilba just learned to be Ori's eldest brother, Nori being in the middle of the two. "It's alright," Dori assured. "They're not our inner names, so it would be fine to speak their meaning."

Bilba blinked. "Inner names?"

Balin offered an explanation. "Ay, dwarves are given names at birth in Khuzdul—which would be known as 'Dwarvish' to you. It is a language we keep to ourselves, so we also have Mannish names to use in place of our true names when we are around non-dwarven kin such as yourself."

They couldn't be serious—_two_ names? Bilba looked around incredulously, thinking that surely someone would contradict this claim. But no one did, and she was left to wonder at the secretiveness of dwarves.

"Well then, what do your Mannish names mean?" Bilba specified her question having accepted this dwarvish oddity.

"Mine means 'violent,'" Ori proclaimed, puffing out his chest and grinning widely.

Bilba stifled a giggle. Someone as sweet and passive as Ori with a name like _that_?

"You got the best out of all of us," Nori grumbled, "mine's 'little scrap' and Dori's is 'borer'—named such due to how boring he is. Very appropriate."

"For the last time," Dori yelped, "it's based on boring _holes_! Like an auger-man! It's an art form!"

After hearing what everyone else's names signified, Bilba gathered that all they all held meanings similar to either a terrifying characteristic or a crafting term—dwarves and their ways, she thought shaking her head.

"Tell her yours, Thorin! It's a good one!" Kili pressed.

Thorin looked reluctant. "It's 'daring,'" he admitted with a gruff voice.

It actually was a good one, Bilba found herself realizing. There was nothing much more daring than forming a rag-tag team of dwarves (and a hobbit, mind you) to take down a hostile dragon and reclaim your kingdom.

"It really _is_ good," she mused out loud.

"What about Bilba? What hobbit meaning does it hold?" Thorin asked, meeting and holding Bilba's gaze.

"Something about food is what I would reckon," Bofur teased.

Bilba laughed. "No no, not at all! Hobbit girls are named after flowers. We hold flowers in very high regard, us hobbits. Why, there isn't a hobbit out there without a garden in his yard or a vase on his table."

Thorin gave a knowing nod. "Like your mayflowers."

"Yes," Bilba said unable to hide her surprise that Thorin remembered. "Like my mayflowers."

"Well, I've never heard of the bilba plant, or any such variety," Oin snorted.

Heat glowed on Bilba's cheek. "Yes, well, my mother had been known as being rather…unconventional. She was a Took after all. She named me after the bulb of a flower, and I count my good graces every day that it ended up being 'Bilba' in place of 'Bulba.' How horrid would that have sounded?"

"Why a flower _bulb_ though? What does that mean?"

"All flowers do have their meanings—such as Belladonna for 'beautiful lady' and Lobelia for 'malice.' I can honestly say that both ladies I know who were named such lived up to their expectations," Bilba noted with pleasure, before wrinkling her nose. "A bulb though has no meaning, for how can you know what flower it belongs to?" Memories of being picked on for her nothing name suddenly came back to her, and she fell quiet as the thoughts turned to her mother, how she would go to her in tears begging for any name other than her own.

"A bulb can become anything then."

Bilba was startled out of her despondency. "Pardon?"

"I said," Thorin repeated, "a bulb can become anything. You are Bilba because you have no flower to tie you down—you are a bulb because you can bloom into anything. It is a name of 'potential.' Your mother chose with a wise purpose."

Suddenly, it all made sense to Bilba. Her mother had always answered her tearful pleas for a different name without a straight answer but with a story of a revered maiden—each time it had been a different story, a different maiden, a different possibility. Her mother had chosen the name because she wanted to give Bilba an opportunity to grow, a chance to bloom into whatever she wanted, no roots attached.

"Yes…I suppose you're right…" Bilba said in a daze, struggling to keep from crying. "Thank you."

The dwarves didn't understand how what Thorin said deserved any thanks at all, but they saw how Bilba's eyes were watering over and they began to shift uncomfortably in their saddles.

"Bilba, what have you got in you lap?" Bofur asked to distract her.

"Hm? Oh, it's my embroidery," she said lifting up the hoop and napkin for all to see.

"…_Why_ would you have that with you?" Thorin said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You never know when you might need it," she said brusquely, annoyed at his judgment. "Well, I'm unstitching it all at the moment since it's already full, but soon I'll be able to design a new pattern." She paused, an idea forming. "Hang on now! I am quite pleased with myself for having learned all of your names I'll have you know, so how about something for commemoration? I could stitch your names with a little embroidered pattern on the backs of your hoods!"

Bilba looked very proud of her suggestion, but the dwarves were unsure as to how they should receive it. They turned to Thorin, making a tacit and collective decision that his word would be the final say.

Thorin stared down at Bilba. "Are you afraid you'll forget them again?"

Bilba took offense. "No, certainly not! I just thought it would be a kind gesture, is all. There's not much I can do for you, I'm afraid, but embroidery is definitely within the range of my skillset."

Everyone awaited Thorin's verdict with bated breath. He gave a defeated sigh.

"Fine, Ms. Baggins—"

"Bilba."

"Fine, _Bilba_," Thorin corrected with forced patience. "I'll allow this."

Bilba clapped her hands together and wiggled her toes, excited over Thorin's blessing and her chance to gift something to them all.

"Splendid! Yours is first Thorin," Bilba said, reaching out for Thorin's sky-blue hood.

It was coupled with grumbling and growling, but Thorin obliged and offered Bilba his hood, much to the delight of the others. And with a song on her lips and a spring in her curls, Bilba unstitched a length of silver thread to set to work, feeling her mood greatly improved since that morning.

**There you have it! I've been wanting to have that embroidery scene in there for a while. I initially had planned on it to be in chapter 2, but I didn't like it and decided to move it somewhere else and that's where I got the idea of them all going over names and such. But I gotta know, what do you guys think of the reasoning behind Bilba's name? I know lots of people hate the genderbent name because it goes against Middle Earth canon, but I decided to add a little twist to it that made it work. I'd be super interested to hear what you thought!**

**Thanks for the read! Hopefully I can bring out the next chapter a lot sooner.**


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